The green emergency surgery pack was opened; soft, white gauze was laid in the tray, and the silvery surgical instruments clinked against each other as the nurse arranged them neatly on the green drape.
Once the anesthesia was confirmed, Zhang Yun’s abdomen was exposed, disinfected, and draped, leaving only the surgical area visible.
The clock in the operating room ticked away, time flowing rapidly.
With the fetus highly likely in respiratory distress, every extra second gained might mean an extra chance at life.
Time passed second by second. Zhang Yun’s body was cut open layer by layer by the sharp scalpel; under the stark white glow of the shadowless lamp, the silver scalpel looked especially cold. Jiang Xu’s movements were decisive and swift, and with Shen Fangyu’s cooperation, each step landed with pinpoint accuracy—so much so that Jiang Xu didn’t even need to speak; Shen was already prepared for the next step.
A C-section is not a complex procedure, but when speed is pushed to the limit while precision must still be ensured, it demands from the surgeon both exceptional mental composure and technical skill.
Jiang Xu’s technique was extremely crisp; every action was fast yet precise. A fine sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, and under the latex gloves, his fingers grew damp.
The operating room was utterly silent. Chen Qi had no idea what was going through the minds of the two lead doctors; from his perspective, he could only see their incredible speed and seamless coordination, with no trace of panic on their faces, yet his own heart was pounding wildly, more than it ever had, even during his English-language thesis defense.
He kept glancing at the fetal heart monitor, as if each glance brought him closer to seeing a guillotine blade drop. The pressure was suffocating and heavy as pitch-black air. If even he, as a minor assistant, could feel this immense time-pressured weight, the pressure on Jiang Xu and Shen Fangyu must be even greater.
Everyone’s expressions were grave. In the operating room, where you could hear a pin drop, the only sound was the “beep” of the monitors.
Until a weak infant’s cry suddenly cut through the air.
The baby, skin wrinkled, was lifted out by Jiang Xu. Shen Fangyu quickly clamped and cut the umbilical cord, removed the placenta, and began preparing for suturing.
Smooth and unbroken, one fluid motion from start to finish.
The tense atmosphere in the operating room eased slightly; everyone’s faces showed smiles they could not hide.
Moisture from his breath fogged Jiang Xu’s mask; it felt stuffy. He took a deep breath, glanced at the OR clock, and said evenly, “New record.”
“Well, of course, look at who your first assistant is.” Shen Fangyu smiled as he sutured. “With me as your assistant, you’d have a hard time not breaking records.” When he smiled, the creases under his eyes were pronounced, and for a moment, Jiang Xu’s gaze flickered.
The baby’s condition wasn’t great, but fortunately the delivery had been fast enough; his respiratory system wasn’t fully compromised, he could still cry.
At that moment, perhaps through some mother-child bond, Zhang Yun, who had been unconscious all along, suddenly half-opened her eyes.
Jiang Xu’s peripheral vision had never left her; he caught her awakening immediately.
“2.1 kilos, it’s a girl.” Jiang Xu said it for Zhang Yun to hear, using no complex medical terms. She still had an endotracheal tube and couldn’t speak. He held the baby up so she could see. A tear suddenly slipped from the corner of her eye.
But the race against death was far from over; in a C-section, the most time-consuming part isn’t opening the abdomen, it’s suturing.
The neonatology team took the frail newborn and quickly began the Apgar scoring. At the same time, Jiang Xu disinfected his hands again, took the surgical needle from Shen Fangyu, and resumed rapid suturing, seven layers in total, from the uterine muscle to the skin. His speed was so fast his movements blurred into afterimages.
For better treatment, Shen Fangyu went with the neonatologists to urgently transfer the baby to a new resuscitation room. Watching her child being wheeled away, Zhang Yun lowered her eyes; they were already rimmed with red.
Once suturing was complete, she too was immediately rushed toward the ICU like an arrow loosed from the string.
The ICU doctors and nurses were already waiting at the door. At the sight of them, the lead doctor’s eyes lit up instantly. “Good! Excellent!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you to be this fast!”
They took Zhang Yun from Jiang Xu and immediately began allergy testing, preparing the tubing and equipment for hemoperfusion.
In the blink of an eye, Zhang Yun had gone from the ER to the operating room, and now to the ICU—her life hanging by a thread between life and death.
Jiang Xu lowered his gaze to the woman on the bed. A catheter was strapped to her leg; an IV of anti-inflammatory fluids dripped into her hand; tubes and monitoring probes covered her body. Her bare arms and legs were marked with wounds.
As the hemoperfusion began, almost everyone in the room silently watched the shifting readings on the monitors and the changing color of the dialysis fluid.
Zhang Yun suddenly moved her mouth.
She had emerged from unconsciousness. The nurse regularly suctioned the mucus from her mouth; thankfully, she hadn’t experienced severe vomiting from the poisoning.
Though the intubation prevented her from making a sound, everyone present understood her lip movements.
“Save me.”
Many patients on the edge of death had said this to Jiang Xu. He had seen this lip movement countless times and could read it instantly.
His gaze dropped to her arm, then he clasped the hand crowded with tubes and lines, leaving almost no empty space. He saw her close her eyes once again, slipping back into sleep.
“Good work, you can go rest now,” the ICU doctor said. “From here on, she’s in our hands.”
To ensure the patient had the best possible care, the ICU wasn’t a place for too many people at once. Besides, Jiang Xu had already done everything within his own specialty. He nodded and stepped out of the ICU, only for his footing to falter and his body to drop heavily onto a chair in the corridor.
“Dr. Jiang, what’s wrong?” Chen Qi asked in alarm. Jiang Xu was still in green surgical scrubs, his lips so pale they were almost bloodless.
Jiang Xu shook his head.
His irregular diet and frequent late nights had left him with chronic stomach problems. Especially after periods of extreme mental tension, when he focused too hard on one thing and then suddenly relaxed, his stomach pain would flare up easily.
The C-section just now had demanded the utmost speed, while still maintaining surgical precision. Jiang Xu had been operating with razor-sharp concentration, like a bowstring drawn to its limit, every nerve taut, completely oblivious to the world around him.
While tense, he hadn’t felt it. But once that tension snapped, his autonomic nervous system was thrown into sudden disarray. The resulting gastric smooth muscle spasm hit him without warning, doubling him over in pain.
“How’s the patient? Did she get in?” Shen Fangyu arrived from the neonatal unit after handing over the baby. He’d barely asked before noticing Jiang Xu’s discomfort. “Stomach pain?”
“She’s in. They’ve already started hemoperfusion,” Chen Qi quickly answered for him, worried Jiang Xu didn’t have the strength to speak.
“There’s a box of omeprazole on my desk, Xiao Chen,” Jiang Xu said. “Could you please—” He stopped halfway through the sentence.
Chen Qi looked at him blankly. Jiang Xu bit his lip, mustered his strength, and forced out, “Forget it. Never mind.”
Shen Fangyu’s gaze froze.
He knew exactly why Jiang Xu had stopped mid-sentence, omeprazole is contraindicated in pregnancy.
The light made Jiang Xu’s face look even paler. He forced himself to raise his head and said to them, “I’ll just sit here for a bit. You two go.”
“Are you really all right, Dr. Jiang?” Chen Qi asked, clearly worried.
“I’m fine.” Jiang Xu waved them off.
When the sound of footsteps finally receded, Jiang Xu let go of the last bit of strength holding his body upright. His shoulders slumped; he curled forward, taking slow, deliberate breaths to ease the discomfort in his stomach.
It felt as if a heavy, black stone had been stuffed into him, weighing down on the soft mucosa and muscles of his stomach, making him draw in sharp breaths from the pain. The suffocating pressure deepened, like a rusty blade grinding against his insides. Jiang Xu clenched his jaw; his fingertips began to tremble.
Suddenly, a pink pig-shaped hot water bottle appeared in his vision. He couldn’t straighten up to see who it was; he could only lower his eyes and stare at the silly smile on the little pig’s face.
“I borrowed it from Xiao Ting at the nurses’ station,” Shen Fangyu’s voice came from above him. “When you’re done, just return it to her. I adjusted the water temperature, won’t be too hot. Use it for a bit.”
Jiang Xu silently accepted the hot water bottle and placed it over his upper abdomen through his clothes.
He didn’t have the strength to lift his head; cold sweat dripped steadily onto the floor. All he could see were the pair of shoes in front of him, unmoving.
He wanted to snap, “Why haven’t you left yet?” But Shen Fangyu spoke first. “Why push yourself like this?”
Jiang Xu let out a dismissive tch and pretended to reach for his phone.
“If you’re trying to call the police,” Shen said, “I already did when I brought you the hot water bottle. They’ll be here soon.”
Jiang Xu didn’t ask how Shen could guess what he was thinking. As much as they were rivals who couldn’t stand each other, he had to admit, Shen Fangyu was the person he had the best tacit understanding with at work.
“You can go,” Jiang Xu said. “I’ll return the hot water bottle.”
“When will you ever stop driving me away?” Shen asked.
The heat from the bottle slowly spread through Jiang Xu’s abdomen, warm and soothing, like a flowing spring, easing the pain bit by bit.
For once, he actually gave Shen a civil answer. “In my next life.”
Shen Fangyu: “…”
“Fine, I’m leaving.” Shen wasn’t one to force warmth on a cold shoulder. Their relationship had never been good, and the hot water bottle was only because Jiang Xu had looked so pale, and because of the child. Once Shen had cooled down, he still felt guilty.
He wanted to make it up to Jiang Xu, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being met with cold sarcasm.
The shoes disappeared from his view, and Jiang Xu listened to Shen’s footsteps fade down the hall.
He didn’t know how long it took before the burning pain in his stomach finally eased, and the water bottle had lost much of its initial warmth.
Holding it, he stood and made his way back toward his department, step by step along the corridor and down the stairs, when he heard noise coming from the hospital lobby.
Hospitals never closed, but the lobby at this hour was far quieter than during the day, making the commotion seem especially loud.
Looking down, he saw the man he’d passed earlier, Zhang Yun’s husband, cursing and shouting as the police held him and pushed him toward the patrol car.
He thought of the bruises on Zhang Yun’s body, of how her condition had almost been delayed because her husband refused to admit she’d ingested pesticide, and of those words, Save me.
As Dr. Jiang, he would save Zhang Yun on the operating table. As Jiang Xu, he would save her in life as well.
When he returned the hot water bottle to Xiao Ting, her already-large, watery eyes widened further, as if she couldn’t comprehend why Dr. Shen had borrowed it, only to give it to Dr. Jiang, the colleague he supposedly got along with the worst.
But Jiang Xu didn’t bother to explain to satisfy her curiosity. He simply thanked her politely.
At home, after a shower, Jiang Xu turned on the bedroom light and picked up the medical paper he’d been halfway through. The moonlight deepened outside, but he had no intention of sleeping, until the neonatal unit and ICU both sent him messages reporting that the patients were stable.
Zhang Yun and her daughter were temporarily out of immediate danger.
Only then did Jiang Xu put down his tablet and switch off the soft bedside light.
Perhaps Zhang Yun’s husband didn’t care whether she lived or died, but Dr. Jiang cared about the life of every single one of his patients.